


Grief

by akire_yta



Series: prompt ficlets [323]
Category: thunderbirds are go
Genre: Brotp, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 05:26:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8000212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>nonsexual intimacy prompt #10 - reacting to the other person crying about something</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grief

John took the stairs three at a time, skidding around the final corner so fast he almost lost traction.  Three girls John vaguely recognized as sharing the corner apartment were clustered around Penny’s door.  “She’s locked it,” one of them said, dragging her friends out of John’s way.

“I’ve got this, thanks,” he told them, punching in his code for her door.

Inside it was dark, the curtains drawn, the overhead lights all turned off.  John heard sniffling, and followed the noise to Penny’s couch.

She was a lump under a pile of covers.  John slithered down, back against the pillar of the armrest, to sit on the floor by the lump.  “I heard.  I’m so sorry for your loss, Pen.”

There was another sniff.  “She and mama were best friends.  She introduced mama to my father.  And now she’s…”  

John’s eyes were adjusting to the gloom.  He spotted the tissues on the coffee table, and snagged the whole box.  Plucking a few, he held them out at the edge of the blankets.

A thin hand closed over his fingers.  “You don’t have to be here for this, John.”  He recognized that voice, though he hadn’t heard her use it on him in years. “I’m just going to be a wreck for a little bit, but then I’ll be fine.  I’m good at funerals now.”

John twisted his fingers in between hers.  “Where else would I be, Pen?” he asked gently, blowing through her defenses like so much tissue. John squeezed her fingers as the pile of blankets heaved with the weight of her sigh.  “Tell me about her?”

Finally, Penny sat up, displacing blankets and pillows.  She slipped off the sofa, curling up against John until her head was in his lap, the blankets strewn over her.  John never let go of her hand, and he used his free fingers to begin carding her hair.  “To start with, you need to understand what kind of girl Aunt Sylvia was.”

John brushed the pad of his finger along Penny’s cheek, gathering her tears. “I imagine a lot like you.”

That conjured a brief smile. “Oh, she was so much worse.”  He listened to her stories as the darkness outside closed in.


End file.
